Ainsi, Peut-être Une Chose
by Nyte Quill
Summary: Deborah & Edmund's musings through the finale. my followup to Non Je Ne Regrette Rien. rated T to be be safe. Part the 7th is up. More is on the way. R&R and as always, enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Edmund Reid was not the first man Deborah had ever been with, though the safest answer to the question was perhaps that he was the first man she had ever been with willingly. To date, the only other man she'd loved had been a childhood sweetheart she had hoped to marry. Yuri had smiled whenever he saw her and they could've built a life on that, but he had died in the mud of a battlefield far away, and she'd lost her heart then, buried in the cold hard ground with the shattered hopes of youth.

Quietly working towards a necessary escape, Deborah had survived in her little war-ravaged village, until late one night, when she'd been savagely taken. A Russian soldier had dragged her down an alley as she made a clandestine trip to an underground market to procure food for what remained of her family. The brutal experience only served to hasten her departure, and she had fled in the company of the Brothers Bloom to a new home, a new world, a new life. She was leaving hurt and sorrow behind her, and though she hoped to heal, she never expected to love again.

Yet she had felt something stir in her from the moment they'd met. A resonance of the sorrow she saw in his eyes, the pain she instinctively recognized as his burden, and a desire to lessen it as she did with her charges grew tenderly within. The night the children's gang and their murderous ringleader had broken in, she had been shielding her charges like a mother hen guarding her chicks… until she'd seen Edmund attacked. Something unexpected had snapped in her, and she had surged forward to seize the fallen weapon and swing on his attacker. A stunning backhand had been her reward, but as the stars had cleared from her vision, she'd sent a prayer for his safety with them to the deity she had long ago lost faith in. Her prayers were answered momentarily, and even then her priority had been to ascertain the Inspector's well-being before seeing to her frightened children. The urge to cradle him in her arms nearly overwhelmed her, and she held herself in check only when he offered a stiff nod of pained reassurance.

That night and many more after had found Deborah wide awake, puzzling over her spontaneous emotional response to the stoic Inspector. In the wee small hours of the morning, while the rest of the city lay in darkness and slumber, she turned moments over in her mind like pebbles in a tide. A brief handshake had left her curling her fingers tightly, as though to trap the memory of his touch in her palm. Furtive glances were common, he became a frequent addition to dreams and daydreams, and she could not help but smile whenever he came into view. And the realization that she was losing her heart to a man who might never love her back was _still_ less surprising to her than finding she could fully lose her heart to anyone.

Shaking out of her sentimental musings, she glanced at the polished clock on the wall. She knew the wake for his young officer had been tonight, and though she prayed for him in the ordeal, she cautiously hoped he would come to her with no real expectation of seeing him. The sudden knocking at the side door was quietly insistent: soft enough not to wake the children, only noticeable if she were awake. She allowed herself a brief frisson of excited anticipation before she opened it, and felt her heart melt like fresh wax when her candle lit upon his face. No words were spoken (though by this point none were needed between them), but the defeated sorrow in his eyes relayed volumes. With a soft smile, she extended her hand toward him, and he lay his cheek upon her knuckles, his head inclining to press like a puppy seeking a pet. It broke her heart to see him in pain, and the immediate urge to soothe and comfort welled up in her like unshed tears. Turning on her heel, she led the way to her chamber and noiselessly shut the door behind them…

**Author's Note: Gah.. the feels the finale has pulled out of me. I've been working on this for almost 2 weeks and it just keeps going, so I'm gonna break it up. There will at least be a part 2, possibly a part 3, and as always I hope you enjoy it. Even if you don't, let me know.**


	2. Chapter 2

The first time they had made love, Edmund strove to bear his weight on his arms, trying so hard not to crush her. (A sweet if unnecessary idea, since she was stronger than she looked, and in the times since, she had come to revel in the feel of him, the warm pressure of his body covering hers a physical delight as every sense filled with him.) His shoulder had screamed in agony even as she whimpered in muted ecstasy, and upon her return from the heights to which he had borne her, she noticed the tension and strain that had nothing to do with restraint on his part. A soothing liniment was applied and he had rested in her arms until dawn, quietly renewing his strength. Since then, at her insistence he not unduly tax himself, he had directed her to straddle him, his hands stripping all away and baring her fully to his gaze before gently resting on her hips to guide and steady her.

His gaze was full of admiration and longing, his touch was gentle yet exciting, and though she knew she was not much to look at, in his arms she felt beautiful. They were a pair: her with scars buried deep in her heart, him with scars more readily seen but still hidden from view. Yet they saw each other's wounds and imperfections and looked through them to the splendor that lay beneath.

He also granted her a rare intimacy, one that until that night had been the sole occasional domain of the woman who shared his name. Only in his wife's arms had he ever lain, and only in her arms had he ever loved. In Deborah's arms he slept, and rarer still, he slept without incident. He found he slept best when he lay curled against her- head pillowed on her breast, the steady _thump thump_ of her heartbeat beneath his ear as soothing as a lullaby, her hands gently smoothing his brow or grazing the stubble that grew along his jawline or caressing the unmarred section of his bared back. To lay encircled in such a warm and loving embrace was a sure guard against bad dreams.

The nights he resided on his back, arms enfolding her as she curled into his side, the fingers of one hand absently twining in the wild curls that rippled down her back, he felt a strange sense of total peace. Her arm draped across his chest, comforting him even in her sleep, though she always took care to dream on his good side, and the look on her face was one of pure, innocent contentment. She reminded him of a cat with a full belly of cream napping in a sunny window- as though she could wish for nothing more in that moment. She was too far away to hear his heartbeat, but her head nestled just right into the hollow of his shoulder, and they fit together perfectly. He did not sleep as much when he held her in his arms, if only because he was generally occupied studying the relaxed curves of her face and winding an errant curl at her temple around his finger, marveling at the serenity that filled him.

To Edmund's mind, theirs was not lovemaking in the sense it was with Emily, but rather a deep, abiding, soul bound friendship that had taken a physical root as well. When he had slept with Emily it was usually a sense of borrowed closeness, similar occupation of a shared space rather than an intimate joining. She typically turned on her side facing the wall away from him, after either donning or straightening her nightgown, and though he always took great care to be gentle and she had no cause to fear, there was a tension to her when he eased himself around her, nestled behind like spoons in a drawer, that only left her as she slept. Deborah preferred the feel of their skin, only ever making sure the sheet shielded them from the chill night air, occasionally arranging it between them if it was more comfortable. But she seemed to crave being close, to adore the feel of being pressed against him, as though they might absorb the best of each other through osmosis. She could draw out the guilt and misery he had carried for so long and replace it with love and support; he could absorb her loneliness and instead let her feel cherished and beautiful and safe. The thought was so tender and hopeful. After the events of the past year, Edmund knew the power of hope but still found himself surprised when it presented from unexpected sources.

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I'm still paring this lumbering plot bunny down to size. There's at least one more part to come, although I'm open to suggestions if you'd like to see something in particular.**

**As always, if you liked it (and even if you didn't) please R&R. Reviews make me happy.**

**A/N 2: Tweaked the ending. I wasn't quite happy with the original stopping point.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Darkness… Fire… Pain… Screams… Loss… Matilda!_ Edmund sat bolt upright in bed, a faint sheen of perspiration gleaming on his skin, scars tingling dully, heart racing like a wild stallion. He'd had the nightmare again, a rare occurrence when he slept in the arms of the woman now gazing at him with wide awake concern. The tender apprehension he saw in her eyes slowed his breathing, quieted his heart, calmed his fears.

He still marveled at the tender loving care she bestowed upon him so readily, though he knew it was simply in her nature to give, just as it was in his to protect. It was one of the many compatible aspects of their relationship, and one of the myriad reasons he was in danger of losing his heart permanently. The thought was not unpleasant, though neither as concerning as it perhaps should have been, given the continued reality of his wife.

Turning to sit on the mattress edge, Reid succeeded in putting a modicum of space between them- until her soothing words leapt the barricade. "Edmund? What is it?" He drew breath deeply before he replied, filling his lungs with the cool air, the soft lavender scent of the woman behind him, the calm her presence wrought on his peace of mind.

"The accident I told you of, my daughter. There was a man aboard that boat. A man whose remains were also never recovered. But all thought him dead. This man… I believe him returned."

"And if he indeed survives, then…" she broke off momentarily, realization dawning. "So also you think perhaps your daughter?" The effect this torturous hope was having on him did not go unnoticed; his breathing had hitched when he began describing the other possible survivor, this missing link in the chain that currently bound him to himself, to his pain.

He launched into the small window of time left by her intermission. "I've always known it," he spoke in a resolute tone. "I've always known she was out there."

"But this, this secret dream that now takes life, it is not for you to share with me. Your daughter had… a mother." That she was reminding him of his wife's existence was both ironic and heart-rending.

He presented her with a fuller profile as he turned to look over his shoulder at her. "A mother who would have me call her dead." Edmund's voice held a raw edge, as though the love he felt for his wife and the pain of her acceptance and release of their daughter's memory were at war within him. Deborah felt her heart crack like an icicle in thaw, a dull cold ache spreading within as she felt his pain slice through her. She knew in that moment that though he cared for her, his heart still belonged to his wife. She held herself away from him, from laying her head against his back, absorbing his misery, giving him her love. But still, she must do what she could, and what she must.

"No Edmund no," she stated in her soft accented tones. "I cannot be the sounding board for your guilt. You seek forgiveness, an ally in the hope that your life might return to what it once was. I cannot provide these things for you. Much as I would wish to." As she paused and pulled away from him, the slight chill in the dark room pervaded the silence, casting a slight pall over the conversing inhabitants. With a calm she did not really feel and a firmness she did not actually possess, she spoke at last to the man beside her. "Please… I think you should go home."

**A/N: Sincerest apologies for the delay; I promise it won't happen again. More is on the way soon. Sincerest thanks to nameless and forgotten for her help and support.**

**I've been listening to Poison & Wine by the Civil Wars while I've been writing this. I think it had a mild effect.**

**You know the drill. If you liked it, even if you didn't, please leave a review and let me know.**


	4. Chapter 4

Shortly after the first time they'd met, Deborah had informed Reid that she was a secular woman, though she had retained a few remnants of her faith and still found it possible to believe in people. Though it was no longer in her nature to pray, she found that she kept Edmund in them whenever she did. She'd prayed when the gang had attacked, but since then, she prayed for his well-being, she offered thanks when he returned safely, she prayed that God would ease his pain and grant him all that his heart desired. She prayed for him more than she prayed for herself.

As she let him go, banishment from her bed wasn't her intent; she would've allowed him to stay forever. But in their hearts they both knew she was right; she had to send him back. It was the right thing to do. Every nerve in her body cried out to hold him, every sliver of her shattering heart ached as it beat for him. He had been firmly placed in residence, and there he would remain, the memory of him held forever by the scars that formed whenever her heart managed to mend. As he walked out the door, silent with nothing but a single gentle tremulous kiss pressed to her lips, she couldn't bear to look and could not help to hear. Muted footfalls carried him down the hall, the outer door closed with a soft thud. She held her breath for 30 seconds, counting each one as another step of distance between them, then slowly let it out. When the final particles of exhalation passed her lips, she drew in a sharp gasp and fell to the bed sobbing.

She was allowing her heart to break. It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, but she had willingly given up the man she loved. She cried out the pain the sorrow, the scars that had begun to heal beneath his touch, the family and friends she'd lost, the variants on her life that had not been and now would never be. She wept for the love she'd never expected to find, and once found had hoped never to lose. She cried until she had nothing left, until the contents of her soul lay in damp stains on her pillow. She turned her back on the painful drops, curling into a small ball as she inhaled the scent from his pillow. Her arms went around in a squashing embrace, though it was a poor substitute for the man whose essence still clung to the fabric.

A deep sense of exhaustion emerged from the hollowness within, and she knew it was time to rest. Before sleep claimed her, she offered a final prayer that he would find what he sought, that resolution of some sort would bring him peace. With the final vestige of consciousness she added one final addendum: that if it were possible, when all was resolved, that he may one day come back to her; and if not, that she would find the strength to live without him.

**Author's Note: well, I was crying when I thought of it, and had to stop crying long enough to write it, then stop crying long enough to edit it, and now it's posted and I'm passing the tears onto you. Edmund's reactions are coming up next.  
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**You know the drill. Leave it at the beep. *beep***


	5. Chapter 5

Deborah is nearly asleep when a timid knock interrupts the aftermath of her emotional outpouring. She lays still for a moment, debating whether to answer, wanting to be alone with her misery. But she sits up with a resigned sigh, sniffles and dries her eyes on her sleeve, and ties the robe more securely around her before pulling the door open. Nessa, a long-term charge 8 years of age, is standing there rubbing her eyes and nose by turns, looking completely miserable. The look on her face is so reminiscent of Edmund's that she has to work hard to force down the sob that leaps to her throat before she can speak.

"What is it, _malyshka_?" Nessa's lower lip quivers alarmingly as a fresh batch of tears threaten to fall. "I had a bad dream, Miss Deborah."

Deborah closes her eyes and lets slip a silent prayer for strength, then exhales long and slow, feeling a small grip of calm descend on her. She opens her eyes and smiles tenderly at her charge. "It is the night for them, darling. Come here." She extends a hand to the sniffling waif, who takes it eagerly in her own dripping extremity and allows herself to be led inside. "Let us not wake the others, alright?" Nessa nods and Deborah grabs a clean cloth, dips it into the basin and gently washes the child's hands and face. A small bit of dry linen serves as a towel, which when rubbed playfully on her nose, causes the girl to smile.

Deborah leaves the candle on the night stand burning, well away from anything that might catch and crawls into bed, taking Edmund's pillow and turning it over before drawing Nessa up into her arms. The child clings tenaciously, as though she fears Deborah will disappear, leaving her alone once more in the nightmare world she finds herself in from time to time.

Deborah holds her close, relishing the little bundle of warmth and innocence in her arms, stroking her wayward curls as she croons a Hebrew lullaby. Now is not the time for tears. Now is not the time to fall apart. She is needed by others, by young ones with bad dreams and skinned knees and bruised hearts. She will allow herself the breakdown she deserves tomorrow night. For tonight she feels a faint smile tug at her lips and a faint longing tug at her heart as Nessa snuggles closer, and simply allows sleep to claim her as the candle's warm glow and the promise of a brighter tomorrow washes over them.

**A/N: I'm getting to Edmund, I promise. But as nameless pointed out, I just couldn't leave Deborah alone like that. I felt like running for vodka and a straight razor.  
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**Pretty please, read & review. Edmund's reaction chapter is on the way.**


	6. Chapter 6

Edmund sits there disbelieving in the dark, stunned by the words that had left Deborah's mouth. He is at a loss of what action to take, what path to pursue. He is rarely uncertain of himself but it happens most often lately around Ms. Goren. What can he do? Beyond that, what **_should_** he do? His mind reels like a fairground attraction as he spins through scenarios in his head.

He wants to kiss her until she submits, use what he's learned of her body to change her mind. But it's too manipulative and temporary to boot. The problem would still be there once the physical aftermath resolved and the idea of destroying her trust in such a heartless manner leaves a bilious residue in his mouth.

He wants to tell her how much he needs her, what a comfort she's been to him, how he'll miss the way she makes him feel… but it sounds selfish in his mind. In his bullet points, there stands no instance to her benefit, no thought of how or why she needed him, no consideration of her feelings. Measured deliberation on their motives reveals a decidedly inequitable result.

A split second of internal debate turns to calling her out on being a lonely spinster, allowing a man into her bed to avoid sleeping alone. It's unconscionable, far too cruel, and decidedly untrue. He needed what she gave far more than she needed what he allowed. He is the miserable wretch, and to say otherwise would be cowardly in the extreme. He does not seek to burn a bridge with her, though he wishes for the absence of any barrier between them. He hopes for them to be happy, as they are with one another, but again his thoughts run more to himself, and less to her. He is being unfair.

In the basest section of his mind, he wars with himself, puzzling over whether he's actually stooped to using her. If he is, he knows he must stop immediately. Her affection, trust, warmth, beauty, the open delight and comfort they find with one another… to take advantage of that and twist it to his own ends is unthinkable. Edmund fervently hopes himself still guiltless of such a debasement.

She taught him to take joy in the simple things, and he relishes the minor delights they have shared. That simple chance meeting where they had walked and talked, when he had discovered a playful aspect to himself he had long since buried, stands like a beacon in his memory. She had teased him gently, and he had allowed himself to engage in the banter wholeheartedly; an unanticipated side effect was that he had made her laugh- simply because he found he wanted to. Oh, her laughter; the sound still rang in his ears, like the clear tone of a bell. He cares for her - that much he can admit - but he loves and has loved Emily for so long that the thought of the disruption of that is anguishing.

He doesn't want anyone to get hurt, though in the core of him he knows it to be both impossible and inevitable. They are all of them in their way plagued by damage, but in this fresh hell, someone will be hurt, and the most likely bearer of the title and brunt would be Ms. Goren. She has been since knowing him, since he first deposited himself into her life, put through physical and emotional wringers that would grind lesser men into pulp… and still she survives, soldiering on, retaining that soft-hearted resolve to comfort and love those in need. She is too good a woman to lose. And despite his indebtedness to her for the ease of his suffering, he cannot continue to be the source of hers.

Every pathway now examined, every scenario thus played out, he finds all options save one exhausted. He does not allow himself to turn back as he stands and gathers his clothes. Behind him, he hears her slide out of the cooled sheets, and a slight rustling of material complementing his own movements. When he is once again redressed and re-dressed, he turns to find her standing near the foot of the bed: arms tightly drawn about her, a worn cotton dressing gown covering her chilled skin, the little roses on the cream background standing out like blood drops in the snow.

Spanning the short distance to the door, he stands before her in silence, willing her eyes to unroot themselves from the floor and look at him. Every nerve in his body screams at him to kiss her, and a slight shiver runs down his spine at the thought of giving in, of pulling her into his arms and kissing away any doubts either of them might have. But he can not, will not, and so does not. No words are spoken (admittedly there are none left to say) but a final kiss, one last feel of her against his lips, and he can survive tearing himself away from this sanctuary, this haven, and the angel who had created it for him.

His eyes traverse over the curves of her face, hidden in shadow, and he considers placing a kiss in the curls atop her head, or on her forehead, a chaste and wordless wish for good dreams. _No._ Then his gaze shifts, tracing the delicate turn of her cheek, and he deliberates cupping her face in his hand, easing aside the errant ringlet that now grazes her cheek, and placing a virtuous peck there. _Oh, no._

Finally his focus rests on her lips and he determines that he is entitled to leave his mark. He is careful not to touch her, but he bends to accommodate the disparity in their heights and gently presses his mouth to hers. She can clearly see it coming, and the lack of flight is somewhat encouraging. She does not encourage further, but she will allow. The kiss is fleeting, soft, tender, and over entirely before Edmund is ready. Before he can think better on it, he turns on his heel and walks out, pulling the door behind him as he leaves her at last.

**Author's Note: It took a while to find the best progression to this chapter. I finally decided it's as done as it's going to get. Hope you like it. Even if you didn't, let me know in a review.**

**There will be at least one more chapter coming. Reviews and comments on it will determine a followup.**


	7. Chapter 7

It had been a month, 31 endless passages from sunrise to sunset, 30 eternal nights spent praying for daylight again. One month since she'd released him. One month since she'd seen his face, received his silent and subtle gratitude for countless situations, and laid eyes on the retreating form that wrapped an arm around the woman he would have by his side until death did them part. 4 long weeks spent numbly following routine, of cleaning and teaching and playing and loving, of finding things to occupy her and pretending everything was fine… until the door shut behind her and she could expel all the tears that threatened to drown her from within. They had finally dried a week ago.

It had been 19 days since the dour Sgt. Drake had deposited a child on her doorstep, explaining that he was crucial to a case and needing a safe home for him until a trial late in the week. He had found it difficult to look her in the eye during his visit, and her gaze had wandered to a cab waiting nearby. It had wandered over the window glass, noting the faint movement of the familiar blur within, passing it off as a trick of the light when she could swear she saw his eyes.

It had been 8 days since Mrs. Reid had shown up in her parlor, announced by one of her children only as "a quiet lady wishing to speak with you." Their conversation, if such a term applied, had been brief, almost mechanical. Perfunctory pleasantries preceded stilted pauses, which persisted until Miss Goren prompted Mrs. Reid to continue on a new point. Her offer of tea had been civilly declined, and the coffer of socially acceptable topics (impending weather, Emily's charitable fundraising, their respective civic duties…) was rapidly dwindling. They were circling some sensitive matter, some taboo concern as yet unaddressed- and Deborah knew of only one such area to cause such discomfort.

"How is…" She broke off as she weighed the options of address. Mr. Reid? Too formal. Your husband? Too personal. Edmund? Too revealing. She gave an internal huff and settled on, "the Inspector?" Emily gave a scalded start at the question, and replied in a stiff tone, "Ed… um, he's fine." A shiver of relief hit Deborah at the mannered reassurance of his well-being, though she hoped her heart would somehow warn her of any major disaster.

There was something still hanging in the air, and Deborah probed with a slightly furrowed brow. "That is a good thing, is it not?" Emily gave a noncommittal nod, letting another pause stretch into a taut silence. Her mouth opened once or twice, snapping back into a tight line without saying anything further. Finally she stood, apologizing for taking up Ms. Goren's time, and walked to the door. She faced the smooth whitewashed wood for a moment, hand on the knob, still as a statue. Once again, Deborah waited for her to speak.

Her quiet voice landed in the silence. "I think… I think he misses you," she managed, before she pulled the door open and slipped through, leaving a gaping Deborah in her wake.

**A/N: There's more on the way. It can end in the next section, or continue a bit after that. Let me know what you'd like to see.**


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